Dear Khodayar, may I offer you tea here in my house? The
sound of children’s voices can be heard and the summer sun dances through the
leaves. I have never looked on your face or heard the sound of your voice but
your words are so familiar to me. Now that I have you here at my table our
friendship can begin again, with the veil of death removed from between us.
We can forget the little things like country, language and
religion, and talk about love and work – about life and suffering. How much
time left together do we have? Life can be so long, so short. Tell me that your
name means friend of God. Tell me about your family’s death. Lay down your
words that I know will be read and understood. Let me hear you laugh as well as
cry. Make yourself at home. Love Stephen
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